As the day wore on without further incident, Brock’s nervousness fell away. Eventually he found himself scanning the trees not in fear but in wonder. There were so many shades of green, it seemed absurd to call them all by the same name. Syd and Fife picked flowers all along the way, never stepping very far off the path but steadily filling little canvas sacks with blooms of brightest yellow and purple and red. He wondered if they had sweethearts back home, or whether they just used the things to cover up the sour stink of the guildhall.
In all the time they walked, Frond and Hexam never once consulted the map the archmagus had given them.
But Hexam’s eyes kept drifting to Zed in a way that made Brock nervous.
And he wondered, not for the first time, why the Adventurers Guild had been so interested in having a sorcerer in their ranks.
The sun was at its zenith when the forest path beneath their feet became hard.
“Stone,” Liza said, and Brock saw that she was right. It was all cracked and worn now, mostly reclaimed by grass and broken by brush, but there had been a walkway of stone here once.
“We’re here,” Frond said.
They came around a bend, and the woods parted into a large natural clearing with a dome of forest canopy above, green light giving the entire space a dreamlike quality. At the center of the clearing, two massive trees stood twined around each other like great wooden braids. Up at the canopy, the branches were so enmeshed as to appear a single tree, but down near the verdant forest floor, the trunks parted enough to form a sort of natural doorway. The space between the trees was dark with shadow, but Brock could see the opening extended down into the earth.
“It’s elven,” Liza breathed. “The druids were elves.”
Brock turned to see Zed thrumming with excitement. He clapped his friend’s back. “Well, let’s check it out!”
“Not so fast,” Frond said. “The shrine is warded.”
“But that’s great news,” Brock said.
“It would be,” Frond answered. “If it were warded against Dangers.”
“I don’t follow.”
Hexam stepped between Brock and Zed, placing a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “The shrine is warded against humans.”
“Humans?” Liza asked. “Why would the druids ward against us?”
Frond laid a hand on her hip, rattling the stars banded to her side. “Because before the Day of Dangers, we were the greatest threat to the druids. Don’t let that pretty fable Forta spins for the Guildculling fool you, girl. There were roads before the monsters came, yes, but they weren’t always crossed in friendship.”
Hexam let his hands fall from Zed’s and Brock’s shoulders as he stepped forward. “In any case, before Foster’s betrayal, the Dangers were still rare and remote. Those that did wander the world were the results of imprudent conjurings, or the occasional thinning of the planar gates as their alignments shifted. Back then, only professional monster hunters tended to cross paths with the benighted creatures.”
“I don’t understand,” Zed said. “The Mages Guild has to maintain our wards. How could these have survived so long?”
Hexam coughed awkwardly. “Well, yes,” he mumbled. “You see—”
“We don’t know,” said Frond.
“The power of the druids was tied to nature,” Hexam added hastily. “And its secrets were lost with them.”
“All except one,” Fife said, his eyes locked nervously on the entrance. “The Red Tithe. Because the spirits of nature required a sacrifice for their power, didn’t they? Every year, when the blood moon rose high in the sky, the boys and girls of Freestone were kept under heavy watch. Still…one child always went missing. It got so bad that mothers would bathe their infants in week-old garbage, just so they were less—”
“The druids didn’t sacrifice humans,” Syd interrupted.
Zed let out a squeak of relief, while Liza rolled her eyes.
Fife made an irritated noise. “Well they might have—for all you know.”
“Probably to avenge all those poor horses,” said Brock.
Syd glanced toward the scant trail leading back to the city. “Listen,” he said, “as much as I’m enjoying the history lesson, the truth is we were lucky not running into any of those bean-eyed creatures Hex-man mentioned on the way here. But luck can change quick as an arrow when you’re standing with a target on your back.”
“How are we supposed to get in, though?” Liza asked. “If humans can’t pass through the wards?” She was standing beside Frond and had addressed the question to her.
Zed realized that during the conversation, the girl had struck the same pose as their guildmistress. Her hand rested on her sword hip now, in a studied imitation of casualness.
Frond glanced to Hexam, who nodded silently.
“We don’t,” Frond said, her fingertips drumming against the points of her stars. “Not the humans among us, anyway.”
Then she looked right at Zed.
It was like all the blood in his body rushed straight to his ears. Frond needed him for a mission? He just stood there, his mind tumbling helplessly between fear and pride.
“No,” Brock answered for him. “Absolutely not.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence passed among the group.
“Syd. Fife,” Hexam said, turning to the journeymen. “Give us some eyes on the trees, will you? If we’re going to wear a target, we may as well see the arrows coming.”
Fife sighed. “Just when it was getting good. Come on, mate.” The two turned and headed away into the woods, Fife galloping ahead while Syd plodded languidly behind him.
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Frond said, once they’d gone.
“You don’t even know if it will work!” Brock answered heatedly. “The wards may block him, too. Zed’s half human. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“Anyone with elven blood can pass through here,” Hexam said. “I read the Silverglows’ pages on the shrine. Foster himself visited it many times.”
Zed felt the hairs rising along his arms. Foster the Warlock had been here….He glanced toward the opening formed by the twining trees, trying to imagine what might wait within. The passage was shrouded by a layer of darkness as thick as any wall.
Brock shook his head, hands balled into fists at his sides. “The king ordered you to do this without hurting any more apprentices,” he said. “How is Zed supposed to protect himself if there’s a monster inside? He can’t even cast any spells yet!”
“He cannot,” Hexam agreed. “But I can. Zed will not be unprotected. Preservation spells and defensive charms are something of a specialty of mine.”
“I’ll do it,” Zed said. Then his eyes widened in surprise at his own announcement.
“No, Zed, you don’t have to,” Brock said. “Not because she says so. The king—”
“We need that focus,” Zed cut in. “The whole city needs it. People are counting on us, Brock, just like we counted on the Sea of Stars up until now. Frond…Frond is right.”
Zed’s gaze dropped to the ground. The hurt look on Brock’s face at that last bit was more than he could meet eye to eye.
He felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. “It’s Zed’s choice,” Liza said beside him. “And for what it’s worth, I think he’s being very brave.”
“It’s never been Zed’s choice,” Brock responded bitterly. “He’s never had a chance for a real choice in his entire life. Frond made sure of that, and now she’s dragged him here and made doubly sure he can’t say no.”
With that, he turned and stalked away from the group, to join Syd and Fife staring out into the woods.
“He’ll cool off,” Liza said with a frown.
Frond silently watched Brock as he strode away, her expression unreadable.
“One day he’s going to take that shot, Alabasel,” Hexam said.
The guildmistress nodded. “He won’t be the first. Or the last.” She turned her attention back to the group. “Grima told us t
he focus is a gem of some kind. It should be fairly obvious, but the druids would have kept it deep within the shrine. Once you remove it from its magic…focus…holder, the wards will dispel. If you run into trouble and can’t get out, our only way in is by you breaking those wards.”
Zed nodded. “What should I do if I see a Danger?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Hexam. The archivist raised his hands and Zed detected the sharp smell of magic almost immediately. His skin began to tingle, then a cool sensation washed over him like brisk rain—except his skin wasn’t wet.
A moment later, lights flashed in his field of vision, like the facets of sparkling jewels. Zed blinked and the lights were gone, but the color had drained from the world, leaving everything around him tinged in gray.
“I’ve provided you with a bevy of magical protections,” Hexam finally said, breathing heavily but keeping his arms raised. “A standard Arcane Armor, Rassuma’s Congruous Cloak, Shadowsight, a third-level Addling Mirrors…No, don’t try to talk. You’ll find it’s impossible, anyway, because of the Muffling Mantle. Now I am going to cast a very fun but very fragile spell: Invisibility. It’s important that you move slowly with this one. Sudden movements—such as running, or attacking, or sneezing especially hard—will shake off the illusion. As long as you keep calm and don’t bolt at the first sign of trouble, anything you encounter inside there should be unaware of…oh.”
Hexam’s legs buckled and he tilted dangerously to the side. Frond moved quickly to catch the wizard. After a moment, he found his strength and waved her away.
“Are you all right?” Liza asked.
“I haven’t cast so much so quickly in years.” The master archivist straightened himself. “Tonight I’ll eat more than Syd and Fife combined, I think.” He turned back to Zed. “Just be careful. And take your time.”
“We’ll be waiting for you out here,” Frond added.
Zed nodded, hoping the gesture looked braver than he felt. Hexam raised his hands one more time and a layer of—something—seemed to fall over Zed. It was soft and sheer, though Zed could still see the world outside of it, as if through gauze.
Liza gasped. “He’s gone,” she said with awe.
Zed looked down at his own body. He could see himself beneath the magical layer. Apparently the spell only affected those outside its range.
With the others neither able to see nor hear him, Zed realized good-byes would be impossible. He took a deep, noiseless breath.
Good-bye, Zed, he told himself as he marched toward the shrine. And good luck.
Zed had expected the darkness of the shrine to be overwhelming. From the outside it looked nearly solid, like a thick black pudding that would swallow him in one silent gulp.
He couldn’t remember the names of any of the spells Hexam had listed except Invisibility, but one had clearly been cast to let him see through the shadows. Every stone and gnarled root was rendered in vivid, colorless detail. When the light from the tunnel’s entrance cut away, Zed saw the new line of darkness as he did any other feature.
Downy moss clung to the corridor’s earthen walls, and plants sprouted from nearly every visible crack. Motes of dust floated in the air, crisp in his charmed sight, but otherwise the tunnel leading in was surprisingly clean. The floor looked almost as if it had been swept, it was so unsullied by dirt or grime.
Zed moved slowly, as instructed. The shrine’s tunnel was totally silent. Even his own breath and footfalls had been magicked away. The absence of his usual noises felt thrilling and strange.
After a few minutes of careful progress, the path began to slope gently downward. Zed would have tried to sense for magic, but the reek of his own protections was overpowering.
Eventually Zed came to a split in the path, which was where he found the bones.
A pile of them as high as his knee lay right where the tunnels diverged. He stumbled to a halt as soon as he caught sight of them. Zed nearly turned and started running back the other way right then, but he remembered Hexam’s warning…and his promise. Nothing could see him if he just kept calm.
He crept toward the bones.
They had been collected at the end of the path leading to the tunnel’s entrance, keeping the passage between the two forks wide and clear. Zed would have to step carefully over the pile to move in either direction.
The bones themselves were spotless and white, as if they’d been picked clean and left bleaching in the sun. Most were from small birds and rodents, and Zed recognized the skulls of many rats among the jumble.
But what had killed them? Something so hungry that it hadn’t left a single bit of meat or gristle behind.
Zed searched the branching tunnels for clues. With his enhanced vision, he could easily see down either path, but both eventually angled away. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and listened.
Silence.
Then—a faint sound. The soft brush of movement, muffled and far away. It was coming from the right path.
So something was alive in here.
Zed opened his eyes. He stepped carefully over the bones, one leg at a time, then headed slowly down the left path. No need to rush right into danger, invisible or not.
The ground here was even cleaner than at the cave’s entrance, polished down to the stone. Whatever creature lived within, it was apparently very tidy. Still, Zed hoped he wouldn’t have to meet it.
Deeper the tunnel went, angling right, then left, then right again.
Zed was already feeling claustrophobic when he found the dead end. He tried to groan in frustration, but couldn’t produce even a hiss through Hexam’s magic.
But as he moved closer to the tunnel’s end, the shadows soon resolved themselves into clear figures. People danced into Zed’s view. The corridor finished at a great carved mural, rising half as tall again as Zed himself.
The carving had been partially eroded away, as if sanded down. Like the floor, it was scoured clean, but the image was still discernible. A host of thin figures stood around a great tree, whose branches twirled out into impossibly elegant spirals. The figures’ hands were all raised joyfully.
And every one of them had long, pointed ears.
Zed ran a hand gently over the carving, his eyes wide. He traced his finger over one of the figure’s sharp ears, and his own began to prickle with heat. The mural made him feel charged and fascinated and…and sad all at once.
Elves had once lived so close to Freestone. Less than a day’s journey away. Had any of them thought to make it to the city when the Dangers struck? Perhaps by then it was already too late. Freestone had to shut its doors against the world in order to survive.
Zed suddenly imagined Foster the Traitor once standing in this same spot, staring at this same relief. He drew his hand away from the mural, and held it to his chest.
He turned around and glanced nervously back the way he’d come. The focus wasn’t here. He would have to take the right path after all, and face whatever creature was there. Zed took a deep breath. He cast one last longing look at the elven mural, then began retracing his steps.
He’d just rounded the first corner when he heard the noise: a scraping sound, like the one he’d heard at the fork, though now that it was closer, Zed could hear a layer to the noise that he’d missed before. The sound was…wet. Like a foot dragging through mud.
Zed pressed against the wall. Whatever the noise was, it was coming toward him. He tried to calm himself, but his heart was beating so quickly he worried the pounding could be felt through the stones.
It can’t see you. Be calm. Move slowly.
Zed waited for the creature. The squelching noises of its movements were agonizingly slow. He watched the far corner intently, warning himself not to run at the first sight of the beast.
But it wasn’t a beast at all. It was something far worse.
A large shape broached the edge, slow as a slug. At first Zed couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like a second wall had emerged from the co
rner. Its mass filled the entire space of the corridor—floor to ceiling, wall to wall. But it wasn’t made of stone, or earth, or even vegetation. The entire body of the thing was wet and viscous, as if it were a giant glob of mucus.
The mass slurped forward, lazily rounding the corner. And then Zed saw what was inside it.
Bones. Possibly hundreds of them. And not just bones. The carcasses of half a dozen animals were suspended within its body, each in various states of decay. The largest of them was a bear—Zed recognized the creature from an old storybook he’d once used while learning to read. The bear was almost twice as tall as Zed himself, and had likely once been more than twice as strong.
Now, what was left of the poor animal’s face was twisted into a gruesome expression of pain and terror. Whatever this thing was, it had digested the bear alive.
Zed took a step back. The mass continued to advance unhurriedly. Panic shot through him. He searched for a way through—a way past it—but the gelatinous mound filled every corner of the tunnel, like pudding in a cup.
As it edged closer, Zed was forced to fall back around the corner he’d just come from. He glanced behind him and realized the dead end was only a dozen feet away. Zed’s eyes landed on the scoured mural. Suddenly he had an idea what had eroded it.
The shape of the mass appeared around the corner’s edge. The huge, lidless eye of the half-digested bear stared right at Zed. He scrambled backward until his shoulder blades made contact with the wasted mural.
Zed tried to scream for help, but the cry produced no sound. The hall was silent except for the sloshing, sucking movements of the approaching horror.
He pressed as far back against the mural as he could.
No, Zed thought. No, this can’t be happening.
Abandoning any intention of stealth, he pulled his small knife from its leather sheath and threw it forcefully at the mound. It struck with a sickening squelch. Immediately the side of the creature burst open like a pustule and enveloped the blade. Zed heard the leather grip hiss briefly as it made contact with the mucous wall. Then the knife was completely swallowed, and the hall was quiet again.
The Adventurers Guild Page 13
